


Focus

by DiscontentedWinter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Not tagging the relationship, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark Stiles Stilinski, because it's spoiler territory, fandomcares, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/pseuds/DiscontentedWinter
Summary: It looks like Stiles has found his focus after all this time. If only John could figure out who it is.





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kcrenegade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcrenegade/gifts).



> This is written for kcrenegade as part of the Fandom Cares auction. KC asked for a world where Stiles is a spark, werewolves are known, and Stiles being in a relationship focuses his magic. 
> 
> WARNING: The ship is not tagged, because it's spoiler territory. If you're not prepared to be (hopefully) surprised, then hit that back button now.

In the five years since Stiles became the Keeper of the Nemeton, John Stilinski doesn’t think he’s had a single night’s good sleep. Of course it was a great honor when Stiles was chosen _blah blah blah_ , but also… _Stiles_? John doesn’t want to cast doubt on the judgment of an unknowable and ancient mystical tree that sits on the confluence of the telluric currents and has done since the beginnings of time…but _Stiles_? Stiles was only fourteen when he was chosen, had exhibited exactly zero magical inclination up to that point, and was powered purely by flailing kinetic motion, sugar highs, and ADHD. And really, in the last five years, not much has changed.

Except one thing.

When Stiles was just the sheriff’s weird, exasperating kid, the townsfolk of Beacon Hills generally tutted at him, scowled a lot, and looked sideways at John in ways that made him worry about his chances for re-election. But now, they make allowances for Stiles in ways they never did back them, and John supposes he can’t blame them. The Nemeton chose Stiles, and the people have faith in the Nemeton. John has always thought his kid was pretty awesome, and he can’t deny it’s nice to see other people start to get onboard with that at last. Still, his life would be a hell of a lot smoother if the Nemeton had made a different choice.

John gets the call at 5 a.m.

“Sheriff?” The voice on the other end of the line is a little breathy. “It’s Bessie. Bessie Kupermann.”

John squints into the darkness. “What’s the problem, Bessie?”

“Well, I came in to open up the bakery, and Stiles is on Main Street. He’s talking to the flowers again.”

John tries to think if last night was any particular phase of the moon, but no, he’s drawing a blank. Still, that doesn’t mean a lot. It’s Stiles’s job to check in with all the living things in Beacon Hills and report back to the Nemeton. “Well, Bessie, you know that it’s a part of his duties to—”

“Sheriff,” she cuts him off. “I think you’d best get down here.”

She ends the call before he can ask why.

Twenty minutes later dawn is just creeping in and John is pulling his cruiser over on Main Street, near Bessie’s bakery. He sees Stiles standing in front of one of the big old planter boxes, running his fingertips over a cluster of daisies in the glow of a streetlight. The flowers seem to bend a little toward his touch. Stiles’s hair is all mussed up, and his smile is dozy when he turns to face John, like he’s still half asleep.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo,” John says. “Checking on the flowers?”

Stiles blinks at him. “Yeah.”

“That’s good, son,” John says. “But why don’t you come on home and put some pants on now?”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees distractedly, and wanders towards the cruiser totally unconcerned about showing his naked mole-spotted ass—and all his other associated bits—to the dawning day.

Jesus Christ. His kid.

***

 

John is used to getting calls about Stiles from around town.

That he’s wandered off halfway through grocery shopping and left his cart at the checkout. Does John want the cashier to ring it up and have someone deliver it?

That he parked his Jeep in a No Standing zone when he raced off to collect some obscure mushroom that only grows in one particular spot during one particular phase of the moon. Jim the tow truck driver will bring it around.

That the library has closed but Stiles is still there, so the librarian left him with a microwave dinner, and she’ll drop the library keys off to John so he can lock up when Stiles is done.

That Stiles is digging around in the sandpit at the kindergarten looking for some shiny rock that a crow dropped there last week and the Nemeton wants him to find, and it’s not a problem, Sheriff Stilinski, but it’s getting cold out, and he’s not wearing a jacket.

That the workers on Addison Street would like to finish digging that ditch some time soon, but Stiles was crossing the road and just _stopped_ , and now he’s having a conversation with a dog, and is it okay to just move them both on, or should they wait until he’s done?

That all changes one August.

“Hello, Sheriff? This is Joe. Joe Prentice. I’ve got your boy in my store and he’s—oh, never mind.”

“He’s what?” John asks.

“Well, he was arranging all the potatoes into the shape of a pentagram on the stock room floor, but it’s fine. There’s a young man here who’s sorting it out.”

John frowns. “Which young man?”

“One of the Hale boys, I think,” Joe says. “Tallish werewolf with blue eyes.”

“Oh,” John says. “Well, call me back if there’s any trouble.”

But, weirdly, there’s no trouble at all. Not then, and not afterwards. John still gets reports from around town on what Stiles has been up to, but they invariably end all along the same lines: “It was fine actually. Hale was with him.”

Has…

After all these years has Stiles finally found himself a _focus_?

 

***

 

Magic is messy. It’s… don’t even get John started. And Stiles, even before he was a spark and the Keeper of the Nemeton, wasn’t exactly centered and attentive to the world around him. A spark is supposed to find a focus. Sometimes that’s an object—and Stiles has been through more talismans than John can remember. Sometimes it’s a familiar—the less said about the squirrel, the better; it was more hyper than Stiles. And sometimes it’s a person. When John starts getting reports that not only is Stiles’s concentration improving—he hasn’t forgotten to wear pants in over a month now—but that his magic is also getting stronger—an entire field of sunflowers bloomed behind Mrs. Thompson’s house when she asked him for help with her straggling garden—John can’t help but wonder if Stiles has found his focus, and that focus is the Hale werewolf that is apparently stuck to his kid like glue.

 

***

 

By mid-September, John thinks he’s about to go crazy. Because while it’s increasingly clear that yes, Stiles has found his focus, and yes, that focus is one of the Hale werewolves, which one is it?

“Young fella,” Kevin Parkins says, but Kevin’s eighty-six years old. He thinks John’s young.

“Oh,” says Olive Hasselbak days later, fanning herself. “Such a handsome one! You could bounce a quarter on that ass!” Olive is also in her eighties, so that’s a little disturbing.

“He was wearing, like, really tight pants,” says Dimity Foster at the high school, and all her fellow cheerleaders nod in wide-eyed agreement.

“He could use a shave,” Alice Freeman says the next week. “Had this sort of stubbly beard thing.”

“Holy shit,” says Troy Hewitt at the Jungle one night. “Just hot. Like super hot. No, like there’s super hot, and then there’s mega super hot, and _then_ there’s this guy!”

So good for Stiles, John guesses, but it doesn’t actually help him narrow anything down.

“He was wearing a leather jacket,” Troy’s friend Ashley pipes up, and John feels an _aha!_ moment coming on. “With this really tight v-neck sweater underneath.”

John’s _aha!_ moment turns into a _dammit!_ moment.

In the end, there’s nothing for it. When the full moon rolls around, John decides to drive out to the Hale house in the Preserve.

The Hales have lived in Beacon Hills for generations. The Nemeton is technically on their property, so John knows that Stiles will be out there this evening, inspecting the wards and performing a blessing and doing all the things a spark has to do.

John arrives before dusk. The Hales are all there, getting ready for their full moon run. Everyone still has their clothes on, though John knows that as soon as the moon appears over the treetops, all bets are off in that regard.

He sees Stiles darting around, wearing his red hoodie and a wide grin.

“Dad!” Stiles exclaims when John climbs out of the cruiser. “What are you doing out here?”

“Oh, just visiting,” John says. “How about you?”

Stiles waves his hand vaguely, and a cluster of moonflowers burst out of the ground. “Spark stuff.”

“About that,” John says. “I’ve been hearing some things that make me think you’ve found your focus.”

Stiles turns a shade of pink. “Oh, yeah. I guess I have.”

“And I keep hearing something about a blue-eyed werewolf,” John says, scanning the assembled Hales. “Someone who helped you out with Olive Hasselbak’s pixie infestation?”

“That was Derek,” Stiles says, smiling broadly at Derek Hale. Derek glowers shyly. Fuck if John knows how that’s even possible, but the guy manages it.

“Figured it might have been,” John says, patting Stiles on the back. He knows Derek has blue eyes in his beta shift. He also knows the story behind that, and doesn’t begrudge the guy. “Alice Freeman said he could use a shave.”

“Oh…” Stiles bites his lip. “When Alice saw me, I was with Peter.”

Huh.

Peter Hale smiles and waves at John.

“Ah,” John says, and pinches the bridge of his nose “Kid, which one of them is your focus?”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Both of them?”

John narrows his eyes. “Why are you saying that like a question?”

“Both of them,” Stiles says, more decisively this time. “It’s kind of a two person job.”

“Okay,” John says. It’s not exactly usual, but since when has Stiles done anything but defy expectations? “And, ah, which one of them are you in a relationship with?”

Stiles goes an interesting shade of red. “Both of them?”

“Both of them,” John echoes flatly.

Derek Hale looks mortified. Peter Hale looks smug.

There is a very loud buzzing in John’s ears, and the start of a tension headache behind his eyes.

“Yeah.” Stiles bites his bottom lip and squirms a little under John’s scrutiny. “Um, it turns out that’s kind of a two person job as well?”

Derek Hale looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. Peter Hale roars with laughter.

John sighs, claps Stiles on the shoulder, and gives a rueful smile.

Jesus Christ. His kid.


End file.
